Kissing Bans, Mint Chip and Crossing Lines
by weonlyliveoncesometimes
Summary: So, Oliver bled all over her couch. Then left. Then tried to bribe her with mint chip which isn't even a proper bribe. Then Felicity points out that they have problems. The fallout is not what she expected, she's crossing lines for him and, well, she's having sexy dreams about Oliver in green leather. This is not what she expected. Sequel to Four Times and Of Processing!


Hello!

I am, essentially, a horribly sporadic updater who, when I place pressure on my muse, finds it deserts me. Which is horrible! Anyway, this is the third installment to Of Leather Pants, Random Kissing and Illegal Activities and I hope it's alright! I'm sorry about the length of time between Of Processing and Bad Lying and this one but, well, my muse sometimes doesn't like me and then Felicity refuses to co-operate. But! I did manage to finish it and here it is!

For those who haven't read the two before this, I strongly recommend it. This story is a direct continuation of two previous ones - Four Times and Of Processing and Bad Lying - and I do make references - look out for the cat one! - to the other two. So, check them out!

Anyway, this is long and Felicity isn't happy, so she's not as perky as she normally is!

But please, enjoy!

* * *

Oh dear Lord. Oh dear Lord. Oh dear Lord.

There's a billionaire vigilante wearing green leather, sitting in her living room and bleeding from his side.

This is like the beginning to the weirdest children's book ever written.

Or Clue.

Complete with mint chip melting slowly onto her floor.

Really, Felicity should clean up the mint chip. She'd make the billionaire vigilante do it but seeing as he appears to be injured, Felicity thinks it would be a little unfair to tell him he has to clean up the mint chip.

As it is, he owes her a tub of ice cream.

But this is all beside the point.

Because there's a billionaire vigilante wearing green leather, sitting in her living room and bleeding from his side.

Felicity blinks a little.

Because he's still bleeding. Apparently, he didn't magically stop bleeding when she helped him get inside her apartment.

Who knew her apartment didn't magically heal wounds?

Well, at least she now knows there's one thing her apartment doesn't do.

But that means he's still sitting on her couch, bleeding.

"Oh, crap. Do you need…a Band-Aid?"

Oh dear Lord.

She must be in shock.

There's a billionaire vigilante wearing green leather, sitting in her living room, bleeding from his side and she's offered him a _Band-Aid._

The vigilante sitting in her living turns to look at her and Felicity wonders if she's gone into some sort shock.

Either that or she's turned into some sort of idiot in the last twenty minutes.

Because a) she's offered a band-aid when clearly he needs to go to the hospital and b) she's now freaking out about the vigilante and not the fact that she knows he's Oliver Queen.

Dear Lord this is all so messed up.

And a band-aid? Seriously? That's the best she can come up with? She couldn't even come up with something witty like 'hey, red and green only go together at Christmas'?

Oliver's facial expression also suggests that she possibly could have come up with something better.

"Felicity. Felicity! I need you to call someone for me." Oliver's voice is low, firm and a little gravelly.

It also holds a tinge of pain.

Felicity knows it's so wrong to find his voice really hot right now.

But his voice is really hot.

It's good to know that – despite being in possible shock – her attraction to Oliver Queen, vigilante in green, is alive and well.

"That is helpful to know. Felicity, you need to call my bodyguard for me." Oliver rasps and Felicity looks at him. "And then I need a towel."

"Huh? Oh. Towel. Sure." Felicity takes a step before frowning at him. "Why do you need a towel?"

Oliver's expression suggests that her question is right up there with her offer for a Band-Aid.

Felicity feels slightly offended by his look.

It's not like this is a totally normal situation and she can act normally.

Really, this is about as normal as finding out a billionaire runs around town in green leather, shooting arrows.

Felicity wrinkles her nose a little because she really needs to download a thesaurus app. She's used the word normal _way_ too much since meeting Oliver Queen.

"I'm bleeding all over your couch. And call Diggle." Oliver orders and then appears to rethink his tone. "Please." He adds, as if it's cost him a lot to add the word.

For second, Felicity sort of just stands there, staring at him. She's not too sure why but she's got a feeling that this whole showing up on her fire escape thing and his asking her for help means that she's about to cross some sort of line.

Like, before she was a pretend accomplice and now, helping him means she's going to become a real accomplice.

Not that it makes any sense but Felicity definitely feels like she's about to cross a line and Oliver seems to be aware of that as well.

She could probably end this right now. Call the police or whatever, hell she could call Mr. Diggle and tell Oliver she never wants to see him again and no more kissing. None whatsoever.

But screw it, there's a bleeding vigilante wearing green leather, sitting in her living room, asking for a towel and he owes her mint chip.

She really likes mint chip, so she sort of nods – sort of because she dips her head and then forgets to bring it back up and she determinedly meets his gaze.

Oliver holds her stare steadily, his green eye make-up somehow making him look more menacing than ridiculous. He clearly knows what he's asking of her and he also clearly knows that he's simply asking her to trust him.

"I'll get a towel."

She's crossing a line, Felicity thinks, and Oliver Queen better be worth all the trouble she's going to for him.

And he'd better buy her some mint chip.

* * *

Felicity had sort of thought that crossing the line with Oliver Queen would have changed her life dramatically.

It hasn't.

In fact, after the night where she apparently lost her mind, she hasn't seen Oliver Queen or the Vigilante.

Which Felicity just finds insulting.

Because, really, manners would indicate that Oliver at least apologize for bleeding all over her couch or, you know, making her spill her mint chip. She may have cursed him as she'd cleaned up her lost tub of ice cream.

At some point in the last couple of days, Felicity had acknowledged that her obsession with her ice cream probably shouldn't have been the thing she was obsessing over.

But it's so much easier to obsess over spilled ice-cream than the fact that Oliver Queen is the vigilante, his green leather and the fact that he showed up and bled all over her couch.

Oh and that she had intimate knowledge of the noises he makes when he's kissing someone.

And by someone, she means her and by her, Felicity means that she's begun to have dreams about him kissing her.

Complete with the noises he makes and her up close and personal with the muscles she's admired. Out loud. While he was on top of her.

Funnily enough, he was on top of her when she was getting up close and personal with his muscles in her dreams too.

Felicity lets out a huff because after the Incident of the Mint Chip, she'd really tried to avoid thinking about kissing and the vigilante.

Apparently, though, while she's consciously avoiding thinking about, her subconscious has no compunction in making her relive those kisses.

The dream last night had actually woken her up.

Mostly because when she was kissing the vigilante, she'd yanked down his hood and it had been _Oliver _who had then lifted her clean off her feet and taken her to bed.

Felicity had woken up because, oh my god, she'd just had a sex dream about Oliver Queen and it hadn't freaked her out _at all_.

Also, most of her dreams about the vigilante had been lacking in Oliver Queen even though, you know, Oliver Queen is the vigilante but in her dreams, it was just this hot guy in green leather kissing the life out of her.

Except last night, her subconscious decided to throw in Oliver and Felicity hadn't been overly appreciative of that.

Not because Oliver wasn't hot or that on any other day she wouldn't genuinely appreciate his appearance in her dreams. Especially one where he displays some serious upper body strength and, well, okay, Felicity has to say when she'd pulled down the hood in the dream the whole hooded jacket sort of disappeared.

Which had left her pressed up against a shirtless Oliver Queen and man, _that_ had been really hot.

But Felicity isn't that appreciative because she doesn't _want_ to have sexy dreams about Oliver Queen.

She just wants her mint chip and maybe an acknowledgement for her less than stellar hospitality.

Felicity is well aware that her sudden preference for ice cream over sexy dreams means she'll most likely end up with a real live cat that _doesn't_ disprove the cats-always-land-on-their-feet theory.

But, who cares?

Huffing out a breath, Felicity lays her head on her desk and wishes that she could stop thinking about sexy times and Oliver Queen.

Seriously. Why can't she be thinking about the fact that he's the hunted vigilante? Or that, you know, she _knows_? Or that she's possibly become an accomplice to him and how screwed up that is?

Probably because she's too busy thinking about sexy times with him.

Her libido, Felicity decides, _sucks_.

"Felicity?"

And now, not only does her libido suck but the universe does too. Because _of course_ Oliver Queen would show up on the only day when she's _not_ freaking out over him being the vigilante or him being Oliver Queen or the bloodstain he left on her couch.

Or, you know, all three things together.

Because sometimes, only sometimes, she has the ability think more than one thing to death.

Still, lifting her head, Felicity gives him a baleful stare. "Hello, Mr. Queen."

She then cringes.

Because she's managed to make that entire sentence sound like a come on and _not_ an attempt at contempt and given Oliver's eyebrows? She knows that it sounded like that to him too.

Which is excellent given all the kissing and sexy dreams she's been having. _Not. _

"What can I do for you, Mr. Queen?" She asks, trying to recover what little dignity she has after the disaster of that first sentence. "Need help with a computer? A phone? Technology in general perhaps? Or, maybe, you'd just like a band-aid?"

Felicity stops at her words and Oliver blinks a little.

If her first sentence was completely sexual than that last one was filled with enough uncharacteristic irritation to make her pause.

Huh.

Who knew under thoughts of sexy times with Oliver Queen was annoyance?

Felicity certainly hadn't been aware of that or that she had that little zinger about band-aid's up her sleeve.

Oliver seems at a loss as to how to answer that. Which, really, doesn't surprise her at all. She's got just enough of an impression off of him to know that he's probably planned this conversation and she's not keeping to script.

"Felicity. I'm sorry to interrupt." Oliver says, a tad formally and once again, she can't help but notice that he holds himself stiffly. That his big, muscled shoulders are taut and wary under his grey shirt.

Felicity resists the urge to roll her eyes at herself. Because of course she's going to notice his shoulders. Even when irritated with him. Which is what she should be concentrating on and not his shoulders.

She's so busy berating herself that she almost misses what he says next.

"But I thought that I should apologize for the other night." Oliver state steadily and Felicity blinks because, huh? "I shouldn't have shown up when I did and I definitely shouldn't have put you in that position."

"Well, apparently, you like putting me positions, so I don't know why you're apologizing for the one the other night."

Oliver stares at her, as if he's having trouble with the sentence.

Felicity lets her head fall back to her desk because, well, _crap_.

That came out twenty thousand times worse than it should have and, as always, it was said to a hot guy who was trying to apologize for bleeding all over her couch.

There are times, Felicity reflects; when she wonders what it would be like to have control over her mouth.

Or brain.

Or brain to mouth filter.

Or all three.

Now is most definitely one of those times. Felicity can only hope that Oliver decides to overlook her tendency to put her foot in her mouth and raises her head to look at him because, well, this is his entire fault.

Felicity suddenly feels so much better.

Because her lack of ice cream, her sexy dreams, and the bloodstain on her couch are Oliver Queen's fault and it's going to stop now.

"Ah, well, ah, I'm sorry for that." Oliver interrupts her musings with a cough and, apparently, a concentrated effort to not use the word 'position.' "I didn't mean to…upset you. Or make you spill your mint chip."

There's a spark of amusement in his eye and the corners of his mouth have ticked upwards and Felicity is suddenly struck – again because, hey, why notice it only once? – by how attractive he is.

Not that she appreciates his amusement over her spilled ice cream but, damn it, she's ready to forgive him because he looks so attractive standing there with only the hint of a smile and amusement in his eyes.

Somehow, Felicity is pretty sure that _this_ is Oliver offering an apology and not Oliver Queen.

Why she has to think of him as three people in order to keep him straight in her head worries Felicity slightly but…there's a difference. It's marginal but Felicity, in her brief moments with him when other people haven't been around, is aware of it.

Damn it.

She doesn't want to let him off the hook just because he's hot. She's _not_ that shallow. Usually, anyway.

"I bought you some mint chip. To replace the one I caused you to spill." Oliver continues, managing the feat of looking both serious and amused at the same time as he offers her the paper bag.

Felicity eyes it a little and then she looks at Oliver who appears to be patiently waiting for her to accept the proffered mint chip.

Once again, Felicity feels like she's crossing some sort of line.

Like by accepting the mint chip, she's agreeing to not say anything about him to anyone.

Which, really, isn't something he needs to worry about because who on earth would believe her?

Seriously, she'd be committed if she told someone she's spent the last couple of months kissing the vigilante only for him to reveal himself to her and, apparently, bribe her with mint chip ice cream.

Which isn't much of a bribe considering he owes her a tub of mint chip, anyway.

Felicity now feels thoroughly insulted.

Because he hasn't seen her since he bled all over her couch, he made her spill her mint chip and…and _his bribe isn't even a proper bribe_.

"So, I don't even get a proper bribe? I get mint chip that you _owe _me." Oliver's eyes widen a little at her tone and Felicity stands up. "I am insulted, Oliver Queen. Insulted by all of this and the fact that you haven't come and seen me, in like, three days and I'm especially insulted that you think you can buy me with mint chip. Insulted, I tell you!"

What is she _doing_? She's just managed to channel some upper crust British person from a film in the sixties.

She didn't even know she knew how to do that.

Oliver looks confused.

Felicity doesn't know how, doesn't he get that she's insulted?

"Ah, alright? Can we – "

Felicity decides, right then, that she's too insulted to listen to him. She doesn't actually want to continue this conversation because in the space of about five minutes she's managed to come on to him, snap at him and, well, now she isn't sure what she's doing but it's not good.

So, she interrupts him with a shake of her head, snatching up a random file and glaring up at him.

Which is sort of ineffective because her glasses have slid down her nose and she probably looks a little bit matronly, glaring over the top of her glasses.

"No. No, no we can't. I have to go and do…something. That way. Away from you." She tells him seriously, pointing in the general direction of…wherever to emphasize her point. "So, goodbye, Mr. Queen."

Felicity scoots around him and just resists stomping away from the figure of Oliver Queen standing there, holding her mint chip.

Actually, Felicity swirls around to say one more thing.

"Leave the mint chip."

She then turns and tries to leave as quickly as she can.

Because _that_ didn't go how she'd thought it would.

* * *

So, she has her mint chip.

Felicity feels like this would be more of a victory if, well, if she could make sense of what had happened when she'd received the mint chip.

In her head, Felicity feels like she may have been a tad more confused when Oliver had shown up with his crappy bribe than she'd originally thought. It would totally explain how she'd managed to shove a come on, an insult and an impersonation into it.

Also, how she'd said absolutely _nothing_ of importance.

Felicity groans as she wanders down the street, towards the convenience store on the corner because she'd discovered she has no milk and standing in her apartment, the sudden realization that she had no milk coincided nicely with the fact that she couldn't look at her couch and not see Oliver sitting there.

Her life, Felicity thinks, would be so much better if she didn't really care about what was happening.

Maybe she should work on that.

Felicity perks up a little at the thought.

That could work, actually. It would be like an experiment where she actively fought to not care about anything and everything except maybe her computers. Plus her movies, her books, the nine hundred and fifty thousand television shows she watches, her phone, the plant she's managed to not kill in three months.

Okay, Felicity amends; maybe she should experiment with not caring about things like vigilantism, green leather, muscles and the Queen family in general.

'Cause it's not just Oliver that's got her confused.

Whatever the heck's going on between Walter and Moira Queen is right up near the top of the list of things she shouldn't care about.

Honestly, Felicity feels like there is a slight chance that Oliver is probably not the most insane one of the Queen family.

Only a slight chance though.

Moira just hid a couple of million dollars behind a weird company with a weird name with an even weirder symbol, Oliver runs around shooting people with arrows, so it can only be a slight chance.

As it is, Felicity is starting to really wonder about this whole thing Walter had her looking into.

It all seems a tad too suspicious for Moira to have simply decided to put away over two million dollars.

Plus, the name. Tempest. Seriously? It would have been quite a lot less suspicious if the off shore company was called something like 'My Yearly Clothing Fund.' Not that Felicity thinks that Moira would spend so much on clothing…but then again, she's seen how much Louboutins cost. Two million does not seem that bad of an estimate for clothing.

The point is though; she should have named it something else. Tempest just makes it sound like an evil corporation intent on world destruction has been formed.

Evidently though, Walter doesn't think so and Felicity wrinkles her nose a little at the memory of being told to back off.

All in all, the Queen family is really screwed up.

And she shouldn't care about any of them.

Which means, her experiment starts –

"Ah!"

Nope, Oliver Queen is the definitely the most insane one of the Queen family.

He has to be.

No one else would pull her into a dark alley, at night, unexpectedly and scare the crap out of her. In fact, no one else would probably crowd her up against a wall, either. Which is what he's doing. His hands were pressing against the wall next to her head and Felicity swallows because while he's not pressed against her, per se, his body is very, very, very close to hers.

Felicity isn't quite sure where to put her hands, so she does the smart thing.

She puts her hands on his chest and is, once again, reminded about the amazing muscles he has.

Which she decides to ignore in favor of yelling at him.

"Oh, my God. You have to stop doing this!" Felicity snaps, glaring at the hidden face of the Vigilante. Who she knows is actually Oliver Queen. "Seriously. You can't just keep grabbing me off the street. I'm going to start getting a complex and one day, someone might actually _want_ to kidnap me and snatch me off the street and you know what'll happen? I'll just go along with it because _you've_ made it into a thing I'm used to." She huffs when she realizes that he's amused.

"Felicity – " He starts, his voice low and gravelly and Felicity can't really decide which voice she likes better.

Because that's _so_ important, right now.

"Uh-uh. No. Not happening. You gave me a crappy bribe and have kidnapped off the street in a matter of two days. You and I have problems, Mister." She snaps and he may have snorted a little at her words. Which just annoys her. "Major, massive problems. Starting with the fact that everyone at the office thinks we're sleeping together." Felicity stops, a little bewildered by the first problem she chose to articulate.

Probably not the one she'd actually been thinking about either.

"What?"

Don't continue this, Felicity, she warns herself. It will end badly.

"Well, not you and me. As in you in green leather and me in my sweats. But you, the other you, and me." Perfectly explained, Felicity, she thinks. _Not_. "When you – the other you – came to see me in my office, people overheard us talking about mint chip and positions and now I'm the kinky co-worker sleeping with the recently returned you. Not the green leathers you, the other you. Although, if they knew you were the green leather you, kinky wouldn't be the only thing they would be saying about you. Both of you."

Felicity stops because he's made a noise that's almost like dry choking.

She then rewinds everything she's just said and goes bright red.

She said kinky twice.

Of all the words she could have used, she had to use kinky and throw leather in there. Just in case he was confused about what she was talking about.

This is one of those times her life is not worth living.

Felicity would really like it if the wall swallowed her whole or someone disturbed them in the alley or he was so disturbed by what she's just said that he runs far, far away from her.

That would solve all problems pretty quickly.

Or maybe, she could do the running.

That could be good.

"Felicity. I need to talk to you." His voice is raspy and Felicity is pretty sure it's like that because of her use of the word kinky.

Which she has to stop thinking or she's going to be permanently bright red.

"Okay. Talk. But if you're going to ask me to keep your secret, we're good. People think I'm sleeping with you, not kissing you. Well, the other green leather you, I mean – " She shakes her head impatiently at what's coming out of her mouth. "We're good. I don't want to be committed, so your secrets safe. Okay?"

He pauses at her words, as if surprised by the fact that she so willingly wants to keep his secret when really, she just doesn't want to end up committed or arrested or the multitude of other things that could occur if people knew she knew who the vigilante was.

Felicity stares at him, thinking of eyeing him down when she realizes that he's moved impossibly closer. Meaning she's backed further into the wall and he's inclining his head and Felicity finds she's instinctively lifting her mouth and…what is she _doing_?

"No. No, no, no, no, _no_." One more no couldn't hurt, she decides. She is trying to make a point, after all. "No. Until I figure out what the hell is going on, you and I? Are on a kissing ban. No kissing. None. We have problems. Or, actually, you have problems. I'm just part of them. So. No kissing. I am enforcing a kissing ban, right here, right now. Okay?"

It gives him pause and Felicity feels grateful as she reaches up and presses against his chest, forcing him to back away from her.

The irony of this is not lost on her.

Normally, _she's_ backing away from _him_.

For a second, Felicity thinks he's going to protest and maybe he would have if he hadn't, apparently, thought better of it. Clearly, he has some deeply honed sense of self-preservation because he nods at her once. Felicity nods in return and then holds still because she senses he's watching her intently.

He's silent for a moment and she has this odd sensation of swooping in her stomach because she's pretty sure no-one has ever _looked_ at her with such intent.

Not that she can see his eyes, though. For all she knows, the wall is really interesting. She doesn't think so though.

Before she can say anything, he raises his hand to touch her face.

Felicity has never believed in romantic gestures like this. Honestly, she thinks that it's a bit weird when people touch other people's faces. Mostly because she thinks it's a bit awkward. If they touch your face, do you hold their hand? Cry? Stand completely immobile?

It's a thing for her. One of many.

But, the touch of his hand cupping her cheek for a second completely takes her breath away. It feels so intimate. So different from when someone else has tried and ended up smudging her glasses. So worthy of becoming breathless.

It's mortifying.

"I'll see you, Felicity." He says quietly and well, she's too breathless to reply.

Goes right up there with the kink factor of this interaction because, what? She's breathless because he's touching her face and not because his entire body was nearly touching hers before.

That doesn't make sense.

Before she can respond and say something completely embarrassing, he backs away and disappears before her eyes again.

Leaving her standing in an alley and wondering what the hell just happened.

"Well, what now?" She asks aloud.

Clearly, her idea of not caring isn't going to work and clearly, too, Oliver doesn't seem to intend to leave her alone.

So, what does she do now?

Well, first, Felicity decides, she should probably buy milk.

She can figure out the rest from there.

* * *

As it turns out, Felicity sucks at figuring out the rest.

Days after being yanked into an alleyway, Felicity still doesn't know what to do.

In all honesty, she doesn't really want to know either and so she makes the executive decision, a couple of weeks before Christmas, to simply not do anything.

So, she doesn't.

She may go out of her way to avoid Oliver because truthfully, after that last encounter with the vigilante, she doesn't think she has the mental capacity to face him.

Or say kink to his face, again.

But she doesn't do anything and it's only then does Felicity actually realize how exhausting it's been to worry continuously about him and the vigilante and whatever is going on between them.

So she keeps her head down, studiously avoids Oliver, except for that one time when he tracked her down with an arrow for her to trace – which was both easy and funny because he apparently still feels the need to lie to her – and continues with her work.

It actually ends up being really peaceful, especially seeing as apart from that one time, she hasn't seen or heard from Oliver and his alter ego.

It's nice. Calming. No need for hysterics or weird moments involving him or even thinking about his family and the weird list of names she'd had to hand over to Walter.

She's completely Zen.

Her state of Zen lasts right up until somebody knocks on her door, close to midnight on Christmas Eve.

With half her mind on going to bed, Felicity ambles slowly to her apartment door and doesn't bother to check who's on the other side.

It could be anyone but it's probably her neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, who hasn't quite figured out her i-Phone yet.

She swings open the door with a tired smile that drops almost immediately when she sees a very battered and bruised Oliver Queen standing there.

"Um…hi?" She says, staring at him and he straightens a little.

"Hi. Can I come in?" He asks quietly and Felicity thinks about it for a second because she was in such a nice place twenty seconds ago.

But then again, she's now curious and she _hates_ being curious.

"Alright. Oliver? Are you okay?" She says, standing aside to let him walk in.

He does and Felicity can't help but thank her lucky stars he's not bleeding again. Or dressed in green leather. Or carrying an archaic weapon. Shutting the door, Felicity turns to face him and wait for his answer.

Oliver glances around her apartment, his eyes lingering over her couch and the brilliant job she's done at hiding his bloodstain – blankets are so useful – before turning to look at her.

Felicity holds her breath because he looks…wrecked.

No other adjective comes to mind. He looks wrecked and then he speaks.

"Walter's missing."

And there goes any chance of returning to her state of Zen.

Excellent.

_Not._

* * *

Well, I hope you enjoyed this!

I'm finding I now need to rewatch season one just to remember what happens! But I'm attempting to try and keep true to both the show as a whole while playing with the Oliver and Felicity relationship. Kind of an AU within canon. Hopefully, that's what it'll be anyway. As it is, next installment Felicity is going to get to know Oliver instead of the vigilante and Diggle, hopefully anyway.. So, that's going to be interesting.

Anyway, I hope it was sufficient and that Felicity's reaction was plausible. She really loves her mint chip, after all!

Please let me know what you think, reviews always make any authors day!


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